Patient Seven
by GhostofVitus
Summary: From the notes of Dr. Caligari: "Ten lost souls have found their way to the Nibelheim Sanatorium. Though I shall endeavour to do my utmost to guide them away from their personal hells and back into the light, I fear that most of them are beyond saving. Nevertheless, I will not surrender in this struggle until I have made absolutely certain that incarceration is the only solution."
1. Zero

Busy day at the asylum. Ten new admissions, all rather unusual cases, at that. But I am getting ahead of myself. Ever a bad habit when starting in on a new journal now that my old one can no longer encompass my digressive notes.

My name is Edwin Caligari, and I am the director of the Nibelheim Sanatorium. Immured within our walls are patients deemed to be a threat either to themselves or to those around them. Here, we do our utmost to offer the care and attention that these troubled souls require in order to help them find peace. At any rate, that is the euphemistic wording chosen by outsiders to describe this place. In truth, it is a dumping ground for those the world has given up on. Those considered by the outside world to be better off locked away somewhere and forgotten about. And that is how most people view places such as this.

I, however, am of a different mind. It is my solemn belief that there is no malady of the body or the mind which, given time and the correct treatment, may not be cured. As such, I have made it my mission in life to try to guide these wayward souls away from their own personal hells and back into the light, and I pride myself on claiming, without fear of contradiction, that our establishment boasts a success rate unequalled by any other in the world where that aim is concerned.

...Which leads me to our newest set of inmates. These cases are difficult and troubling, and it is little wonder that they have found their way here. For reasons which I am, regrettably, not permitted to go into, I cannot refer to any of these patients by name, or reveal too many specifics regarding the circumstances by which they found themselves here. Being that is the case, I have decided to refer to them here by number, going by their order of admission.

Given the amount of work ahead of me and my staff, a full and proper clinical diagnosis will have to wait until a later, more opportune moment. Let these proemial scribblings suffice for the time being.

Now, without further ado, let us begin..

**Patient Zero**

That the poor man is afflicted with a fascination with fire, and the destructive tendencies that inevitably follow, is obvious. What is less so is how the patient became so disconnected from his former self, as though his personality has been usurped by another, wholly alien one.

The subject is in good health, of tall and athletic build. 'Mens sana in corpore sano', as the saying goes (Or perhaps that should be 'mens rea in corpore sano'. Well, we are halfway there, I suppose). All in all, I can find no problems with Zero's physical state. The patient's mind, however, is another matter entirely. When left to himself, Zero will often be found pacing his cell, ranting and raving, going on about "traitors", "heritage" and things like that, in displays that border on malignant narcissism. Other times, he may be observed talking quietly to some unseen party, muttering what appears to be random nonsense.

These passionate outbursts aside, Zero exhibits occasional moments of lucidity, even geniality, during our interview sessions. When I asked him why he did what he did, he merely shrugged, claiming that he was fascinated by fire. I don't doubt it. Yet this fascination, I expect, is but the expression of a more profound dysfunction.

There is no history of mental illness in Zero's family, and the man himself seems to have exhibited no warning signs up until the night of the fire. The patient simply woke up in the middle of the night, walked downstairs into the study, and then calmly set about gathering the materials with which to set his family's residence on fire, incinerating the rest of his family as they slept.

I can detect little remorse in him regarding the deed in question, and the way it has been described to me all but rules out any notions of premeditation. Furthermore, the patient seems to lack any recollection of the event, and has had to be reminded of it several times. When I first related the details of the incident to him, he smiled and chuckled softly, as though mildly amused by the news of his family's demise. Otherwise, I have observed little or no reaction from him regarding their deaths.

As I have mentioned before, the subject is physically gifted, and yet he seems strangely weak-willed. Such a mind as his may be open to suggestion or influence by outside agency, though I shudder to think what it was that he saw in his mind's eye that brought him to this state.

Although not violent, there is a look in his eyes of casual hostility, one that tells me that given the chance, he would likely do something just as drastic all over again. As such, I am hesitant to release Zero into the general population at this time. It may be a long while before he is ready to rejoin the population at large, if he ever will be. I will have to observe the patient further, and select a proper course of treatment in accordance with his condition. I do believe there is a conscience lurking in there somewhere, though it lies buried deep beneath this callous veneer, and I shall do all I can to unearth it.

#**  
><strong>

**Diagnosis:** Borderline personality disorder and resultant dysphoria; Pyromania (co-morbid).  
><strong>Rate of recidivism:<strong> High.  
><strong>Outlook for recovery:<strong> Poor.  
><strong>Recommended course of treatment:<strong> Undecided.  
><strong>Conclusion:<strong> Patient still not fit for release into the general population. Movement to solitary confinement may be necessary in order to prevent harm to self and others.

**Addendum:**

Last night, I observed Zero in his cell, leaning against the far corner of the room, looking up towards the moon. He was whispering to someone, occasionally addressing the unseen party as 'mother'.

A sign of guilt, perhaps?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes<strong>

A somewhat abstract story, I know, but it was one of those pesky ideas that won't leave you alone until you commit it to the page. It shouldn't be too hard to guess who our first inmate is. So, who's up for psychoanalysis next? We'll see.


	2. One

**Patient One**

I am pleased to report that my second subject is considerably more sociable than my first (hereafter referred to as Zero). I don't quite know what it is, but there is something about that cold, lucid state in which I sometimes find Zero that frightens me more than any raving lunatic I've met. He looks at me and my staff as though he were contemplating different methods of disposing of us, whilst maintaining that same feigned air of conviviality. One gets the feeling that he is merely humouring us, while biding his time..

But back to my current subject. As I've said, she is far more pleasant company. Unlike, Zero, she has been given permission to wander freely about the gardens in the centre of the asylum grounds, as she poses no immediate physical threat to herself or others. I should not neglect to mention, however, that she was involved in a minor altercation following an argument, and that this incident is what ultimately led to her being committed here. I am told she could have done much greater damage to her interlocutor, given that she is well versed in martial arts, but thankfully one of her school's core tenets is restraint. She was admitted here, I am told, not on the suspicion that there will be a repeat of this incident, but rather that she may take other, more drastic measures, due to the severity of her condition, coupled with a deteriorating grip on reality.

By occupation a tour guide, she was well known and liked by most of her village's inhabitants. Late one night, as she was preparing for an extended journey into the mountain range surrounding her home town, there was a severe fire, the conflagration originating not far from her family's house, and spreading quickly from one building to another, affording her little time to escape. She fell unconscious near the town square, mere moments after emerging from the burning building, having inhaled dangerous amounts of smoke.

Having spent a week or so recuperating at a local hospital, she showed no signs of any permanent physical damage, and was discharged shortly thereafter. Were this a kinder world, that would have been the end of our story. Alas, that was not to be the case. Patient One, I'm afraid, has fallen, in the past few months, under the delusion that many of the people she knows, including members of her own family, have been replaced by identical impostors. This distorted view of her surroundings both foreshadowed and entailed a complete breakdown of her daily routine and life. This strange obsession took hold of her mind with alarming rapidity, and, a mere fortnight after its symptoms began to manifest themselves, she had started to maintain that her entire home town had been replaced wholesale. Obviously, this notion is an absurdity, but it is one to which my patient clings with utter conviction.

As for the facts in the case at hand, I have confirmed from various news reports and sources that there was indeed a severe fire, and that large parts of the town were destroyed and had to be rebuilt following the rescue efforts. I should not neglect to mention that much of this work began while my patient was hospitalized, which may play a significant role in her disorientation. But it is self-evident, I should think, that this hardly justifies such a paranoid outlook, which can only be the product of mental ailment.

As with my first subject, there is no recorded history of mental illness in the girl's family. I can detect no other physical or mental frailties to speak of in her, but in this particular delusion, her faith is unshakable. Try as I might, I remain unable to disabuse her of this pernicious idea, which is all that stands between her and a return to normal life. It remains wholly entrenched, as delusions tend to be; it pains me to report, from years of experience, that such a reserve of unwarranted confidence in an unsupported notion is easily plenished.

One more thing to note, in relation to all of this. When queried on the subject of relatives and friends, she sometimes speaks of a certain, close friend of hers, who she claims she can no longer identify. In her own words, she looks at him, but sees someone else. Someone she does not recognize.

Though she will not speak of it, I sense that there is something about this individual that troubles her, something entirely unrelated to the delusions that bedevil her. Whenever I attempt to press her further on the matter, however, she sedulously avoids answering my questions and does her best to change the subject. She is careful to guard her heart's innermost thoughts and feelings behind lock and key.

As I have noted above, this one persistent delusion aside, as well as her reluctance to discuss anything too personal, she is quite convivial and good-natured, which makes the necessity of her confinement here all the more lamentable. I hope that we shall soon cure her of her condition, and see her safe exit from the asylum. Such a delusion may seem harmless enough, but left to fester unchecked, it may become debilitating, even dangerous.

**Diagnosis:** Capgras delusion (chronic).

**Rate of recidivism: **Unknown.

**Outlook for recovery: **Good.

**Recommended course of treatment: **Regular counselling and interview sessions coupled with mild antipsychotics.

**Conclusion: **As this is a fairly uncommon condition, it is impossible for me to say just what the patient's prospects are. I remain optimistic, however, that with the correct treatment, she will be ready to leave our facilities before long. It would be a shame to see such a promising young life cut short by the intrusion of a condition such as this.

**Addendum**

As we do not possess any gymnastic facilities, and generally do not encourage overt physical activity, for obvious reasons, I attempted to engage my patient in a rather more sedentary, though no less pugilistic, sport: Chess. Given its emphasis on order and logical thinking, it strikes me as an ideal past-time for our setting, one that coincides rather fortuitously with our object here of assisting our patients in re-ordering their minds. Suffice it to say that she did not share my enthusiasm for the game, and at one point even questioned the notion of whether it truly counts as a sport. It is not the first time I have been met with this attitude towards the Grand Game, and I could scarcely contain my amusement. "Don't be fooled, my dear. Chess _is_ a sport," I replied, offering a friendly smile as I leaned across the table. "A very violent sport."

The look on her face told me that she remained, to put it mildly, unimpressed.

Well... to each his own.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes<strong>

My apologies for the long wait. To be honest, I wasn't sure whether to keep going, or leave this story as a one-off. But it seems to have been warmly received so far, and I have a few ideas about where to go next. Mind you, this isn't meant simply as a trip to the shrink's couch for our beloved cast of characters. There will be some twists and turns before the end.

Not sure where the chess quote originates from. Might have been an offhand remark made by Gary Kasparov, or some such figure. Always did like it, though.

Right. I think that's about it for this note. So, who would you like to see get psychoanalysed next?


End file.
